


Lock & Key

by sablier_bloque



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Chastity Device, Consent Issues, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Sex, F/M, Geralt's Canonically Giant Cock, Jaskier is a size queen, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink, due to, key holding, mild jealousy, poorly negotiated kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22406872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sablier_bloque/pseuds/sablier_bloque
Summary: “Geralt, it’s not what it looks like.”“Really?” he asked. He clenched his jaw before offering a sharp, mirthless smile. “Because it looks like you got caught fucking the mayor’s wife, and now I’m not getting paid!”“Well,” he laughed nervously, looking anywhere but up. “When you put it that way.”In which Jaskier suggests a chastity device to prove himself a worthy travel companion, and of course, gives Geralt the key.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 103
Kudos: 2353





	Lock & Key

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Filth Town, Population: Us. 
> 
> This is absolutely a **fantasy** about chastity devices. This isn’t a how-to guide. I’ve never used one and have only researched on Al Gore’s internet. Don’t do this at home unless you’ve extensively researched and know what the fuck you’re doing (I have no idea what I’m doing). Also, I’m pretty sure wearing a chastity belt 24/7 would be a chafing nightmare but *hand wave* it’s fantasy, folks!  
> I don’t know if this actual chastity device exists; I couldn’t find images of the exact thing I wanted, so I created my own. 
> 
> Thanks to [eremji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handsfullofdust/pseuds/Eremji) and [goodmanperfectsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmanperfectsoldier) for betaing/reading and to the rest of the tomato gang for brainstorming and encouragement!
> 
>  **Consent note of the spoilery variety** : Jaskier masturbates in front of Geralt while they’re both intoxicated. Geralt also gives him instructions in this scene.

Jaskier’s habit for wrecking marriages was almost as well known as Geralt’s reputation for slaying monsters. It was impossible to go even a fortnight without running into a scorned spouse with a vendetta, a weapon, or occasionally an entire army at their beck and call. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier would yell nervously while cornered in a crowded tavern by the Duchess of Zefira. “ _Geralt_!” he’d shriek in panic before squeezing behind him and hiding from Sir Revin of Barsa. Geralt didn’t mind most of the time; usually a flash of his eyes or a too-hard grip on a shoulder was enough to send them scurrying from the Big Bad Witcher. But sometimes Jaskier’s dalliances got in the way of the work, or, even worse, the payment.

During this particular occurance, Jaskier stayed behind while Geralt dealt with an arelagu, mostly because it had to be slain at sunrise and trying to get Jaskier up that early was rarely worth the hassle. The last thing he needed was Jaskier whining and yawning dramatically and giving away any strategic advantage they were afforded by the darkness. 

So he and Roach ventured to the forest without their rowdy bard, he slayed the beast after a harrowing, exhausting fight, and then he returned to town mid-morning with its head for payment. Except—

“Geralt, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” he asked. He clenched his jaw before offering a sharp, mirthless smile. “Because it looks like you got caught fucking the mayor’s wife, and now I’m not getting paid!” 

“Well,” he laughed nervously, looking anywhere but up. “When you put it that way.” Jaskier was huddled outside the inn, naked as the day he was born, covering his crotch with the only possession he’d grabbed on his way out the door: his lute. He’d been thrown out on his ass and not allowed to re-enter for his things. 

“Why are you utterly incapable of keeping your dick in your trousers for five cursed minutes?” 

Jaskier looked down and shrugged. “I wasn’t even wearing trousers this time.”

“ _Jaskier!_ ”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat and gave his best attempt at a charming smile. “Perhaps, dear Witcher, you wouldn’t mind going inside and retrieving my things for me? I’d ask to borrow something of yours but,” his gaze roved down his body, “none of it would fit my svelte figure.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes and left Jaskier and his lute and his troublemaking cock to deal with the innkeeper. He returned with their belongings, throwing Jaskier’s clothing to him before packing his own things into his saddlebags. 

Jaskier stepped into his trousers and then cleared his throat. “Geralt.” Geralt ignored him, buckling up one bag before moving to the other. “Geralt.” Jaskier shrugged into his shirt before placing a hand on his arm. “I know that this situation is less than ideal.”

“Less than ideal?” Geralt turned to face him. “Your inability to control yourself has affected more than just yourself this time, bard.”

Jaskier’s face grew more serious. “I did say I was sorry. And I meant it. Next time—”

“Who said anything about a next time?”

His face fell, his mouth softening and turning downward, and even though anger still coursed through him, Geralt hated the way it lessened at the sight. “You don’t mean that,” Jaskier said softly.

Geralt swallowed and looked back at Roach. It was easier to let his anger stew when he didn’t have to look Jaskier in the eye. “You can’t control yourself. I can’t let that get in the way of my livelihood. ” 

Jaskier touched him again, encircling his wrist with fingers roughened from the strings of his lute. Then he pulled on Geralt’s arm to turn him so they were facing one another again.“What if I promise? I can — I can —” His eyes lit up suddenly before they narrowed, and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

Geralt’s nostrils flared, knowing he would regret inquiring further. “Hmm?”

“Come with me,” Jaskier replied, grabbing his hand and yanking him toward the western edge of the city. Roach trotted along behind them, and it annoyed him that she was so used to Jaskier’s antics that she just followed without question or guidance.

“Where are we going?” Geralt asked. His patience for his bard companion was already thin, and he really wanted nothing more than to leave this gods-forsaken city. 

“You’ll see.” He had that look on his face that Geralt knew all too well: sheer, single-focused determination. It was overwhelming to look at Jaskier at times, to see a man express so much, so freely, with his wide-eyed wonder and ruddy-cheeked joy. Sometimes, when he was upset, his mouth would quiver like a babe’s, and Geralt wondered what it would be like to live each day with his heart flayed open for all the world to see. 

“It should be somewhere around here,” Jaskier said, interrupting his thoughts. Geralt’s nose reacted to a perceptible change in the air as they walked onward - flowery perfumes, spent seed, the thick, heady scent of arousal. 

He stopped and sighed. “If you’re looking for the brothel, it’s right there.” He pointed to an unmarked door. “Though if this is your solution to sleeping with every married noble person on the Continent, I can’t say I’m impressed.” 

“It’s not,” Jaskier said, his voice heavy with exasperation as though Geralt had wronged _him_. Jaskier reached for the door handle but Geralt stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Knock first. It’s still morning.” 

Jaskier nodded and did as Geralt suggested. It only took a few moments for a woman to appear. She was short with pale, freckled skin and sleepy green eyes, and her tawny hair was plaited over her shoulder. She was in a sleeping gown, and her bare feet peeked out from under the hem. She looked them both up and down. “Prices are higher this time of day,” she said, opening the door to let them in.

“Erm, thank you for letting us know,” Jaskier replied as they stepped inside. “And I would absolutely be willing to pay it because I’m sure that this is the finest establishment of its kind on this side of the Continent. However, that isn’t why we’re here.” 

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to gather what he meant. As Geralt was just as clueless as she was, they were in the same damn boat. “If you want something special, I’ll need to wake up Wynda.”

Jaskier nodded and smiled. “Alright, we’ll wait.” Geralt sighed and wondered when this whole parade would be done so he could be on his way. 

It took about ten minutes for Wynda to descend the stairs. She was tall and lithe with dark skin, and her hair was tied up in pale blue scarf. She was wearing a silk robe which was tied at her waist. She introduced herself and then asked, “What do you gentlemen have in mind?” she asked. She spoke with an air of authority, as though she took no prisoners or nonsense, and, well, that was usually Geralt’s kind of woman. 

“Good day, I am Jaskier, and—”

“Jaskier. That means _buttercup_ , doesn’t it?”

He looked pleased that she knew that. “Ah, indeed. Actually, I don’t require any, uh, services,” Jaskier responded. “Traditionally speaking.” He stood directly in front of her while Geralt leaned against the wall behind him. “Instead, I’m hoping that I may buy a device from you if you have it.” She raised one eyebrow as she waited for him to continue. “I need a chastity belt.”

Geralt’s body jumped forward, his eyes widening in disbelief. Jaskier looked toward Geralt and gave him a nervous smile.

Wynda continued. “For yourself or—” her eyes flitted to Geralt. Her gaze appraised him so thoroughly that it may have made any human man crumble to dust.

“Definitely for myself,” Jaskier responded.

“Good, I have a few on hand, but your companion would be too large for them.” Geralt suddenly wondered what exactly this woman was assuming about their relationship. She turned around and looked behind her. “Follow me.” 

Jaskier tried to step forward but Geralt grabbed his arm and spun him so they were face-to-face. “Jaskier, you can’t be serious.” 

He laughed nervously. “I am very serious.” Geralt’s jaw tightened as they looked at one another for several moments. “Geralt,” he whispered, his voice softening as he continued. “This is a solution, and I— I do not wish to be parted from you. Please.” 

The idea was laughable. Ridiculous. But Jaskier was looking at him with fragile hope in his eyes, and, truth be told, telling him no was always more difficult than he’d like to admit. 

Geralt nodded and let go of his arm. Jaskier sighed, and his whole body relaxed in relief. “Thank you.”

They followed Wynda to a storeroom, which housed oils and linens and a variety of… devices, most of which Geralt had only ever heard about. He was a simple man with simple desires, and any time he paid for services, he declined anything extravagant or complicated. 

Wynda took what Geralt assumed to be a chastity belt off of a hook on the wall and placed it on the table in front of her. 

‘Will he be your key holder?” she asked Jaskier, grabbing two locks and a key from a shelf. 

Jaskier turned toward Geralt, his head tilting in question. “Yes?”

Something in his gut quivered at the hazy, unknown possibilities before him. “What does that entail?” he asked.

“Since you’ll be in possession of the key,” Wynda said, “you decide when and if it comes off. He can’t take it off without your permission.” 

Oh. This suddenly felt... too private, too intimate. Too much. It was madness. Jaskier wanted him to— No. No. Geralt opened his mouth to say exactly that, except—

“See?” Jaskier asked, a small, hopeful smile on his face. “No more dalliances of which you do not approve because you,” he tapped his index finger on Geralt’s chest, “must approve of them first!” He turned back to Wynda before Geralt could respond, and Geralt stood there feeling completely out of his element. 

“Does that work for you?” Wynda asked him.

Geralt grimaced. And then he nodded. 

“Very well.” She turned back to Jaskier. “Please remove your trousers. And you,” she said to Geralt. “Come here. I’ll teach you how to put everything on.”

Jaskier hopped out of his boots and took off his trousers as if it were an everyday occurance to undress in front of two people and be fitted into a chastity device. He suspected the bard would be the end of his sanity.

Wynda knelt down in front of Jaskier with a measuring tape. “Now, don’t get hard on me, poppet.”

“Easier said than done with a beautiful woman in front of me,” Jaskier said with a wink. “Unless, uh.” He looked at Geralt, and his face sobered. “Unless you’re married, that is.”

She wrapped the tape around his scrotum. “I am indeed married, and you’re also very much not my type.” 

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips and looked upward. “Not into troubadours?”

“Not into men,” she responded with her final measurement. “Alright, I have one that will do.” She looked at Geralt. “Grab that oil there and put some on your hand.” 

“Surely he can do this part himself,” Geralt said.

“He can. But that’s not how it’s traditionally done. Now,” she grabbed the oil herself, unstoppered the vial, and poured some into his palm, “slick up his cock and balls first.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunted in exasperation. 

“I promise I won’t get mad at you for fondling me, Geralt,” Jaskier replied. His eyes were closed and his mouth was tilted into a satisfied grin. How had he gone from repentant beggar to cocky flirt in three, very short minutes?

Geralt gave Jaskier’s cock a mean pull, eliciting a yelp and a startled jump, before he roughly applied the oil to his balls. 

“Alright now,” she said, picking up the device, “this is in two parts. First he’ll step into the actual belt.” She handed it to Geralt. It was a circle made of steel to go around the waist, and from the middle dropped a perpendicular line to wrap from the navel to his backside, with a hole in the front for his genitals. Geralt held it out with a sigh and Jaskier stepped inside of it. “Pull the genitals through the hole here, and then you’ll tighten and clasp the belt in the front.” 

How many times was he going to have to touch Jaskier’s dick today? 

He did as she instructed as mechanically as possible until Jaskier was firmly in the belt. 

“How does it feel?” she asked. 

Jaskier took a few trial steps. “Uh. Strange? Certainly not super comfortable.”

“Good. Can we give up this ridiculous idea and be on our way?” Geralt sighed. 

“No, I’m already in it now. What’s next?”

“The cock cage,” Wynda replied, holding up the two pieces. “This ring will go completely around the genitals and rest behind his sack. And then you will tuck his cock into the cage.”

This seemed more complicated than the belt, so he knelt down and took the cage from Wynda. But this time, as he picked up Jaskier’s dick and balls to bring this ridiculous plan to fruition, he smelled the telltale signs of Jaskier’s growing arousal, and he had to ignore the small thrill that threatened to bloom at the thought that he’d made it happen. He followed her instructions as quickly as possible, knowing that if Jaskier’s dick fattened up in his hand, it wouldn’t fit in the cage, and they would be stuck here for gods know how long. Even still, it was swelling with blood by the time Geralt finished, and he could see how it tried to fill within its confines. 

“Very good,” she said. “He can wear the cock cage on its own, if it pleases you. The belt is really just there to prohibit buggery.” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow in question, and Jaskier nodded. _Of course,_ Geralt thought, ignoring a stirring in his belly that he refused to name. _Of course._

“The fun part,” Wynda said, handing Jaskier the two open locks. “Now you give those to him.” Jaskier placed the locks into Geralt’s palm, his face softening as he did so. Their eyes met, and an openness, an intimacy passed between them, which felt exponentially deeper than this silly game that Jaskier had roped him into. 

“Are you going to lock me into place, dear Witcher?” Jaskier asked, his voice as warm and sweet as honey dripping from the comb. Something unnameable unraveled inside Geralt as he knelt before this man who was freely giving him total and complete control over a very pivotal aspect of his life just to gain his trust. 

He averted his eyes and placed the first lock onto the belt clasp before closing it. Then he pinched the ring and the cage and threaded the lock through the holes at the top, sealing them together with a faint click. 

“And the final thing,” Wynda said very softly. When Geralt looked up, Jaskier already had the key in his hand. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and extended it to Geralt. And Geralt, having no idea where else to keep it, took off his necklace, opened the clasp, and slid the key onto the chain to rest next to his medallion. 

“All yours now,” Jaskier rasped shly, the corners of his lips crooking upward. His gaze was too much though, warm and heavy, and Geralt felt uncomfortable under its weight. 

So he stood up and crossed to the doorway. “I’ll leave you to finish,” he said, and walked outside to wait with Roach. 

*

It took a week for Jaskier to make his first request. A week of uncomfortable grimaces as Jaskier adjusted to his new circumstances, a week of Geralt telling him they didn’t have to do this, a week of Jaskier assuring him that he’d made his choice already, thank you very much. 

They were in an inn that promised free food and ale for two hours of performance, which Jaskier heartily accepted. He strummed his lute and sang his bawdy songs, and as Geralt sat by himself in a dark corner, he couldn’t stop thinking about what exactly was under Jaskier’s clothes. How could he, when he saw it every day to remove the belt to allow Jaskier to take care of personal needs? When he tucked him back in afterward, lifting Jaskier’s caged prick to fit within the belt’s slot and lock him back in place? When he watched Jaskier clean his cock inside its enclosure with tender care?

No one here knew what was hidden beneath Jaskier’s ruby-colored trousers, and the knowledge that he was the only one aware of that little secret made Geralt... restless. Bothered. 

He clenched his jaw, cursing himself for his inability to clear his mind and think of literally any other thing on this cursed continent. 

A woman came up to Jaskier as he finished a song and headed to the bar for another ale. She was stout and strong, with sun-darkened skin and cropped black hair. She looked as though she could give Geralt himself a run for his money in a fight, and he certainly wouldn’t wish for a human to cross her. She placed a hand on Jaskier’s arm and said something that made him laugh, and suddenly Jaskier was pressing against her side and whispering in her ear with a devilish grin. 

It didn’t take long for Jaskier to leave her side and meander over to Geralt with that pleased, bright smile he always had after a successful and welcomed performance. It turned shy when he saw him, though, and he plopped himself down onto the bench next to him. 

“Geralt,” he said before pulling him closer to whisper in his ear. “I’d like to remove everything tonight if you agree. I made sure she is wed to no one.” Jaskier had caused no trouble thus far and was trying earnestly to stick to his agreement. So Geralt nodded with a grunt, ignoring how Jaskier’s face brightened in response. “Shall we go upstairs then?” 

It was a question that Geralt has been asked a couple hundred times in his too-long life, but never like this. Never in a way where he’d be left cold and alone while the inquirer reaped all of the pleasure. 

“Hmm,” is all Geralt said, standing to head upstairs while his bard companion scurried after him. Jaskier was already taking off his boots and trousers and smallclothes while Geralt latched the door, and it was no time at all until he was completely naked from the waist down. 

“We may need the oil,” Geralt said, pulling his necklace overhead. 

“Right,” Jaskier responded, running shamelessly to Geralt’s pack of potions to find it, not caring one whiff that he was so exposed in front of him. “I’ve got it,” Jaskier called out once he’d found the vial.

“Come here.” Geralt sat on the bed, the key dangling between his fingers. Jaskier stood in front of him. His prick was already trying to get hard in its enclosure, no doubt excited by its future prospects. It was red and flushed, plumped against the metal bars, and Geralt wondered what it felt like. Was it painful or just frustrating? Was it, perhaps, even pleasurable in its own way?

“Geralt, I have a woman waiting for me downstairs who could kill me with her bare hands, and I’m honestly excited by the prospect. I’d be grateful for any expediency.”

He rolled his eyes and unlocked the cock cage. He pulled gently on the steel, seeing if it would budge, but Jaskier’s prick was too swollen in its confines. And Jaskier groaned so softly as he did it that Geralt’s jaw clenched in a poor attempt to ignore it. He grabbed the oil from Jaskier’s hand and slicked up his cock and balls as mechanically as possible, but Jaskier’s shuddering gasps reminded Geralt that there was nothing mechanical or normal at all about what they were doing. 

He eased off the cage with slippery fingers. Jaskier immediately sighed in relief, his dick lengthening the second it was released, and _Melitele_ , what the fuck was Geralt doing?

“Almost done?” Jaskier asked, his hands fidgeting at his sides. Geralt grunted his response and carefully pulled the ring off from behind his ball sack. Then he unlatched and removed the belt. Another sigh, followed by a softening in his body posture, and then Jaskier was walking over to the pitcher and basin to clean the oil from his groin. 

Geralt set aside the cage and the locks and joined him at the basin to clean his hands. “Thank you,” Jaskier said before drying off and dressing again. He tucked his hard prick into his smallclothes, and even after lacing up his trousers, Geralt could see the prominence of his erection. “Should I come back when I’m done?”

Geralt sat down on the bed and bent down to remove his boots. “That’s not up to me.”

“Yes it is,” he replied. Geralt glanced up, one boot still in his hand. Jaskier’s brows were raised as he looked at him meaningfully. 

Geralt wasn’t sure why Jaskier had thrust this responsibility upon him. He wasn’t sure why he kept playing along. And he certainly wasn’t sure why he said, “Yes. Come back when you’re finished.” As if he cared what Jaskier got up to, as long as it didn’t get in the way of his work. 

“I will,” Jaskier said with soft eyes and a softer smile, and then he left to reunite with the woman downstairs. 

*

He returned some time later, slack-mouthed and loose-bodied; pleased as pie. He cleaned up immediately, but still, Geralt could smell the activities of the night as he locked him back up — a heady mixture of sweat and seed and cunt. He pictured her, riding Jaskier’s dick, his hands at her waist, cupping her small breasts, and he felt himself stirring at just the thought. 

It was nothing. Geralt had not partaken in any sexual activities in a while, and it only made sense for this to affect him so. 

“See?” Jaskier grinned. “I’m perfectly capable of behaving myself.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, extinguishing the oil lamp before Jaskier got the chance to try and recount his evening through lyrical verse. 

*

The next time was a silk merchant in Oxenfurt who was dressed even finer and more colorfully than Jaskier. Then there was the knight in Arinbjorn and the Countess in Trottheim. There were several other nameless, faceless humans along the way who fit the one, simple criterion and were able to lure Jaskier into their beds. 

Then there was the council person who avoided answering any question regarding marriage or betrothal, and Jaskier came to him with pleading eyes. 

“I’m not actually sure if they’re married, you see.”

Geralt took a drink of his ale. “The lack of answer is answer enough.” 

“Ah, but ignorance is bliss, dear Witcher. What I don’t know can’t hurt me.”

“Find someone else to fuck.” 

Jaskier eyed him for a moment. “What if I can’t find anyone else here who wants me?”

“Then write better songs.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and slumped forward in a sulk. “ _You_ love my songs. You were completely unable to hide your grin during my new verses yesterday; don’t pretend otherwise.”

Geralt leaned back against the wall, took the last swallow of his ale, and pointedly did not respond.

They were both in their cups by the time they meandered upstairs. Jaskier was humming terribly out of tune as he began to undress, and Geralt ignored it as best as he could. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly. He was down to his smallclothes, and the familiar gleam of the chastity belt peaked out from its edge. 

“Hmm?”

“I want to — will you please remove the cage?”

Geralt looked up and met Jaskier’s eyes. He was hardly dim-witted, so he knew very well what Jaskier wanted, but still. He couldn’t help but ask. “Why?”

“I wish to pleasure myself,” he said, perfectly matter-of-factly, as he always was with these inquiries.

Geralt realized that Jaskier had had a fairly steady stream of partners the last few months and had not yet made this particular request. “Oh?”

“Yes, if you are amenable. May I?” 

The question shot an arrow of _hunger_ into his gut, and he took a steady breath to calm it. He had never had the desire to control someone, to lord over them, to make them do his bidding. His own life had been taken from him as a boy, and the thought of holding someone’s freedom in the palm of his hand had always made his stomach turn.

But Jaskier was looking at him with those big, blue eyes, so open and unguarded, and he realized the amount of implicit _trust_ that Jaskier had placed in his care by submitting to this agreement. Geralt now had complete control over every one of Jaskier’s affairs as long as he stayed by his side, and the knowledge of that was overwhelming and heady.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Ask again,” he rasped. Geralt could smell the sudden spike in arousal as Jaskier took a shaky breath.

“May I pleasure myself?”

They looked at one another for one long, drawn-out moment before Geralt finally responded. “Yes.”

Geralt took off his necklace while Jaskier grabbed the oil from his pack. Then Jaskier pulled down his smallclothes and stood before him, ready for Geralt to free him. He inserted the key into the lock at the cock cage, and Jaskier made a sound of confusion.

“Speak your mind,” Geralt said.

“You’ve been removing the belt first lately.”

“I remove the belt for your partners’ sakes.” He opened the lock and took it off. “You don’t need it off to bring yourself to completion.” 

“Oh,” he whispered, and another wafting of arousal filled Geralt’s senses. He liked that, Geralt realized. It was more than just giving Geralt control to prove himself a worthy travel companion. Giving Geralt control was pleasurable in and of itself.

And that? That made Geralt so hard, so quickly that his head spun. 

This time, when Geralt slicked him up, he did so gently, like he would for any lover, and Jaskier whimpered in response. He carefully removed the cage and the ring, and then Jaskier knelt down, right there in front of him, taking his cock in his hand with a breathy groan.

He was vocal — of course he was — panting and moaning with each stroke. It sounded filthy, the oiled _squelch_ of his hand around his prick meeting his cries, and Geralt clenched his fist in the bedding in an attempt to rein in his own arousal. 

“Oh, _ah_ ,” Jaskier breathed, his eyes squeezing shut, and then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Geralt’s open thigh. Jaskier was so close to his prick, and his hips threatened to thrust forward in hopes of some sort of friction. He all but gave into the temptation. 

“Geralt,” he whimpered, _whimpered_ , “may I? Please?” 

Geralt closed his eyes, trying so damn hard to keep his breath steady and calm. He felt the threads of the bedclothes loosening under his firm grip. “What do you want?” he replied, and gods, if his voice wasn’t as shaky as Jaskier’s. 

“Please let me come.” His fist was faster now, as were his groans of pleasure, and Geralt knew he was almost over the edge. 

He also knew that Jaskier had given this part of himself entirely to Geralt’s mercy and whims, and he couldn’t help but wonder how far that could go. 

So Geralt grunted, “No,” and Jaskier cried out in response, his hand immediately falling away. He breathed heavily against Geralt’s thigh, and Geralt could hear the sound of his rapidly beating heart.

He couldn’t believe it. Jaskier, who always did whatever and whomever he pleased, had just obeyed his command so willingly. What else would he do if Geralt told him to do it? There was an open sea of possibilities before them, and Geralt had only just dipped his toes into the waters. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, pulling him from his reverie. He nuzzled his leg, and before he knew it, Geralt’s hand was buried in Jaskier’s hair, petting him as though he were a needy pup. 

“Are you alright?”

He huffed. “I am aching.” Jaskier turned his face so that he could look upward while still resting his cheek against him. “Please.” 

“Not tonight.” He gently pulled on Jaskier’s hair until he was sitting up, their eyes meeting. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He nodded emphatically. 

“Get ready for bed,” Geralt said. “Then I’ll lock you back up.”

He tried to do that very thing, except Jaskier’s cock was unable to stay soft long enough to fit into the cage. It would harden right in his palm, and he ignored every instinct to just curl his hand around its length and finish him right there. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m afraid I’m too keyed up.” 

“It’s fine. We’ll put it back on in the morning. Go to sleep.” 

It was Geralt’s turn to sleep in the bed tonight. So he only heard, rather than felt, Jaskier tossing and turning in his bed roll. At one point, he made a soft noise of distress and Geralt rolled over to face him. 

“What?” he asked. 

“This is… well, strange, but—” he paused for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was softer, like he was sharing a secret. “I feel naked without it.”

 _Oh_. Had he really gotten so used to the cage that it now felt unnatural to be free of it? Arousal pooled in Geralt’s belly at the thought. And while he had no plans to do anything about it, he might be able to ease Jaskier’s suffering. 

“Come here,” he said, scooting to the edge of the bed and pulling the blanket back. 

Jaskier sat up and looked at him. “You’ve never let me sleep in the bed with you, except that one time when it was the size of The Continent itself.” 

“I‘ll let you this time if you’ll shut up about it.” 

“Well, far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth,” he responded and got up to join him. 

“Turn away from me,” Geralt said, and when Jaskier did so, he pulled him to his chest and reached into his smallclothes to cup his hand around his cock. 

Jaskier gasped. “Geralt.” It was already growing harder in his hand, but he simply adjusted his grip and closed his eyes. 

“Be quiet. Go to sleep.” 

There were several minutes of silence, Jaskier’s breaths getting deeper and more even, but Geralt easily caught his whispered _thank you_ before he finally drifted to sleep. 

*

When Jaskier came the next morning, it was by his own hand, sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. Geralt was on the bed with his back against the wall, watching the stroke of his fist, the bite of his lip, the way his brows knit together when he was close. 

He asked once more for permission, and he cried out in relief when Geralt said yes, his seed splattering against his own neck and chest. The smell of it, hot and freshly spilled, utterly overwhelmed Geralt, and it was all he could do to not haul him onto the bed, remove that blasted chastity belt, and drive his cock into Jaskier’s ass until it was dripping with his own come. 

He closed his eyes, trying to rein in his own arousal before completely losing himself. _Gods above,_ what was he doing?

Jaskier cleaned up his mess, though it did nothing to clear the air of sex, and then he walked toward the bed and stood in front of him. “Geralt,” he said. He looked down at Geralt’s lap meaningfully, though the bedclothes completely covered his erection, before meeting his eyes once more. “If you’re… I can — help.” 

“No,” he growled as though he were an animal, trapped and cornered. If Jaskier so much as pulled back the blankets, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist. 

“Alright, alright,” Jaskier said, stepping back with raised hands and a placating smile. “My apologies for provoking the big bad wolf.” 

He couldn’t put a name to this thing that they were doing, but it still felt as though there was a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Jaskier, in a strange attempt to win his trust, had given him this responsibility, this _power_ , and using that for his own pleasure would surely be an abuse.

Jaskier cleared his throat before picking up the cage from the table next to the bed and handing it to Geralt. “Well then. Back to my life of pious chastity, I suppose.” 

A smile threatened to cross his face despite himself, and he felt the tension begin to bleed away. “You’ve never been pious a day in your life. Nor chaste.” 

He gasped, his mouth agape like a fish. “I take great offense to that when I am chaste every single moment confined to these—” he gestured wildly, “—contraptions!”

Geralt gave him a slight bow of his head. “My apologies, bard.” He began to slip the cage into place, and when he looked up, Jaskier was gazing at him with those clear blue eyes that were startling enough to rival his own. His smile was still bright from their banter, and a comfortable warmth curled in Geralt’s chest at the sight of it. 

“How come none of the songs speak of how handsome you are?” Jaskier asked, just barely above a whisper. He reached out and slowly trailed a finger along Geralt’s jawline. 

Geralt averted his eyes and ignored the softness of the touch, the quiver in his belly. “Because you haven’t written them.” The lock closed with a click, and then Jaskier was, once again, at his mercy.

“I suppose I’ll have to remedy that.”

*

As the days continued, Geralt’s mind repeatedly returned to the moment when Jaskier, with his fist around his cock, ready for his release, had stopped himself the second Geralt had told him no. The mere memory of his resulting throaty whine, forever imprinted on his mind, was enough to make him hard and wanting, and he found himself in need of physical relief more often than usual. 

They came across a woman, broken-hearted and scorned after a broken betrothal, and Jaskier sidled up to him to ask for permission to _cheer her up_. 

“It would do her a world of good, you see.” 

“Mm,” Geralt replied. He hauled the saddle off of Roach’s back and handed it to the inn’s stable boy. 

“Don’t you agree that she needs some pleasure in her life?”

Geralt did agree, but something within him too greatly enjoyed delaying Jaskier’s pleasure that night. “You don’t need your cock to pleasure her.” 

The stable boy eyed them warily and Jaskier smiled nervously and tugged on Geralt’s arm until they were outside. 

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, Geralt! I’ll have you know that my prick has brought immense pleasure to many a woman, noble and peasant alike. One day, they’ll write songs of my—”

“You have a mouth,” Geralt said. “And hands.” He walked off to head into the inn. “Make use of them.” 

*

Jaskier came into their room, smelling of slick cunt, and Geralt could picture him kneeling on the ground, his head buried beneath her skirts while she pressed him tightly against her center. 

“Geralt,” he said. “I would like to bring myself off.” He looked wrecked; sweat was beading at his temples and his hair was mussed in every direction. “Please.”

“Let me see your cock,” Geralt replied. 

Jaskier grinned, hastily pulling his trousers down to heed his command. Geralt lifted it in his hand, studying it for a long moment. It was purpled and plump, straining against the cage, and Geralt wondered how long it would stay that way. 

Jaskier groaned while he inspected him, practically vibrating with impatience. 

“Not tonight,” he said, dropping it and giving it a small pat. 

“ _Geralt_ ,” he whined. 

He looked up and met his eyes. “No.” 

Jaskier’s face pinched with frustration. “Tomorrow?” 

“The day after. If you can behave.”

Jaskier sulked all night, and was a fidgeting, annoying mess the next day, and the following morning, he woke Geralt before the sun had even risen. 

“Please?” he asked, voice high and desperate, a soft, pitiful sound that made Geralt’s cock thicken in response. 

Geralt let him come, but not without work. Not without letting him get to the edge and stopping him right before falling over it. Geralt was lying in the bed with Jaskier facing him, his knees pressing against his side, and Geralt reached out and halted him four times with a hand on his wrist. And each time, his cries became more frantic and desperate and — “Geralt please, I’ll do anything. I don’t know if I can stop myself this time.”

There were tears in his eyes, and his skin was flushed from his cheeks to his chest. He was stroking himself slowly in case Geralt stopped him once more. He was also whimpering with each tug, and it was all such a sight to behold that Geralt couldn’t help himself when he rasped, “Gods, you’re pretty when you’re desperate.”

Jaskier lost it, his cock pulsing, streaking across Geralt’s naked stomach and chest. He took a big, shuddering breath before his body relaxed, his shoulders slumping forward. 

His seed was hot on his skin, and the smell of his pent-up arousal, finally released, was so potent that Geralt could scarcely think. So perhaps he could blame his mindlessness when, a moment later, he said, “Lick it up.” 

Jaskier looked up at him with wide eyes. “Do you really mean—”

“You made a mess,” he said. His voice was even gruffer than usual, a low grumble in his chest. “Now take care of it.” 

Jaskier leaned forward and traced his tongue along his abdomen, kissing a few stray droplets away from his navel. Geralt’s stomach clenched under his ministrations, ignoring every temptation to yank him onto his lap and lick the taste of his own come from his mouth. 

He stayed strong until Jaskier’s tongue flicked across his nipple, and then Geralt shot up from the bed and crossed to the other side of the room, his back turned toward Jaskier. He’d let it go too far this time, and he was losing his resolve. 

“Geralt?” 

“Go fetch yourself breakfast,” he grunted, his hands fisting at his sides. 

The room was silent for several moments before Jaskier spoke again. “Geralt—”

“Go.” He took a deep breath. “Please.” 

“Alright,” he replied softly. Geralt heard him getting dressed until, finally, the door opened and closed behind him. 

And then Geralt wrapped his hand around his prick and brought himself off with the smell of Jaskier’s come still thick in the air. 

*

The air between them was tense for the next several days. But there were monsters to kill and coin to collect, both of which were very welcome distractions. 

He felt Jaskier’s gaze on him often, especially when unlocking the belt or undressing after a long day. He also spoke less often than usual and spent more time wordlessly humming along with his lute. 

One evening at a blasted, terrible ball hosted by a blasted, terrible duke, Jaskier came across a man he’d known from home. He was handsome and dashing, with honey-colored hair and blue eyes, and he was dressed in finery and silks fit for a king. 

Jaskier spent every moment that he didn’t have his lute in-hand by the man’s side. Geralt watched them from the corner, steadily nursing his goblet, and he couldn’t miss their easy smiles and lingering touches. Something twisted within him, dark and melancholy, and he hated the way all of this made him feel. 

Jaskier sauntered his way later in the evening, with the usual question on his lips. “Geralt, I would like to — that is — Jon was very important to me as a boy. And he is neither wedded nor betrothed.” He placed his hand on Geralt’s forearm. “Please.” 

They found one of the duke’s private rooms to remove the belt and the cage. Geralt took off his necklace, and looked at the key that rested next to his medallion. It hit him, suddenly, how important Jaskier had become to him, how much this silly game had tied them together, how he loved and _ached_ for what they had and how he wished it could be more. 

Jaskier stepped forward when he was undressed. “I’m ready when you are,” he said softly. Geralt nodded from his seat and slid the key into the lock with shaking hands. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he did so, Jaskier’s fingers slid into his hair. It was so easy, then, to lean forward and rest his head against his abdomen, and Jaskier held him there for what felt like ages, one hand against his nape and the other brushing through his mane. 

“I would choose you,” Jaskier finally whispered against the quiet night. “I would choose you every time if you’d just let me.” 

His words cracked open Geralt’s chest, and it was all he could do to keep himself from weeping. He took a deep breath, and then another, and then another. And then he sat back up and removed the locks and the belt and the cage. It was the first time he’d done so in which Jaskier stayed soft, and he looked up at him in surprise. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said with a sad smile. “I’m merely a man. I cannot be perfect all of the time.” He touched his cheek softly and turned to dress himself. Then he looked at Geralt once more, just for a moment, before leaving the room.

*

The weeks passed. Jaskier hadn’t asked to pleasure himself since Geralt had kicked him out of the room, and he hadn’t asked to be with anyone since Jon. Geralt wondered if Jaskier, unable to find release, was as miserable as Geralt felt.

They finally headed for Vicovaro. There were tales of a large monster with an even larger bounty, and Geralt planned to end its life and, in turn, fill his purse. It was a long, tedious trek, and before they knew it, they were the only souls around for hundreds of miles. 

Jaskier had been without the belt for several days — no need for it with no one around — but he’d asked to keep the cage. Sometimes when he slept, Geralt would notice his hand curled around his caged cock beneath his trousers, reminding him of the night that he’d held it for him. He would remember how comfortably Jaskier’s small frame had fit against his chest, how right he felt in his arms. The memory made his heart bloom with affection and longing, and he thought he’d do anything to bring that feeling back.

One night during their journey, Jaskier laid out his bedroll near the fire after putting away his lute. It was a clear, cloudless sky, with thousands of glittering stars above them. He sat down on his pallet and stared upward for several minutes before finally taking an inhale of breath to say something. 

He didn’t, however. So Geralt put down his whetstone and sword and looked at him. “What?”

“I—” he took another breath and turned to face him. “Geralt. I miss…” he huffed. “Look, what we were doing was delightful. When you were taking charge and denying me what I wanted. I hate that we’ve stopped. I hate that… it seems to have brought this,” he opened his arms as wide as he could, “chasm between us. I just... don’t know why we can’t go back to it. And I don’t know why you feel that you can’t also — receive pleasure from this arrangement.” He looked toward the fire and grinned with a shake of his head. “Honestly, it’s very much like you to be so self-sacrificing when you don’t have to be.”

Geralt sighed. “Jaskier, you put this… power and control in my hands. A ridiculous solution to a real problem which has, oddly enough, actually worked. I can’t _abuse_ what you’ve given me. I can’t take something from you when you no longer have the power to give it.”

“But I’m still a person. With agency. And a cock that tries very hard to get, uh, hard, when I think about you. If I tell you I want it, then I do.” Jaskier looked at him for a long moment before continuing. “I want this, Geralt. I get terribly hot and bothered when you tell me I can’t come or when you make me pleasure a woman with no return. Gods above, that one was quite good, by the way. But...” he trailed off, and he bit his lip before continuing. “I would rather have you than all of that. And if you are incapable of believing that I can make that decision while under your lock and key, then I’ll ask for that freedom back. I’d rather we stop with this game and just be with you if that’s the choice I must make.” 

Geralt took a shaky breath, warmth spreading from his chest, through his veins to every inch of his body. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes, you hard-headed, insufferable man. But if it were up to me, I’d really like both.” 

It was enough. It was more than enough. Geralt stood and crossed over to Jaskier’s bedroll and then knelt down to kiss him. Jaskier squeaked as their lips met, and Geralt couldn’t help but smile against his mouth. He grabbed him and hauled him onto his lap, and Jaskier complied happily, wrapping his arms and legs around him. He was, _Melitele_ , a very good kisser, his mouth warm and his tongue slick against Geralt’s own. 

“Geralt,” he whispered. He grabbed his hand and pressed it against his caged cock through his trousers. “Mm, can we take this off now?”

“No,” he replied, leaning him back against the bedroll. “No.” He quickly divested him of each piece of clothing, kissing him as much as he could during the process.

“Geralt,” he whined. He was naked now, and he ground his hips upward, seeking purchase. “Please.” 

“Right now,” he said as he reached over and grabbed the oil from his bag, “I’m more interested in sating my curiosity than sating your desires.”

“About what are you curious, dear Witcher?”

Geralt leaned down and brushed his lips upward against his neck until he reached the shell of his ear. “If you can come with your prick still in that cage.” Jaskier groaned, arching against him.

“Fuck, you may be the death of me.” He pulled Geralt down for another kiss, and then, “Why are you still wearing clothes?” He sat up and reached for the buttons of his trousers, and Geralt helped him out by pulling his shirt over head. Geralt’s thumbs caught in the fabric of his hips, and he pulled his trousers downward.

“ _Gods._ I— Geralt.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, ignoring him, perfectly aware of what was coming. He finished removing his clothing and boots and grabbed the oil again.

“You have the largest cock I’ve ever seen, and I have seen many, many cocks, Geralt. It is, wow, is this — is my mouth actually salivating just looking at — oomph.”

Geralt flipped Jaskier onto his stomach and pressed their bodies together, his dick tucking against the cleft of Jaskier’s backside. “You can only discuss the size of my cock while it’s inside this ass of yours. Am I understood?”

“Y-yes,” he whispered. 

“Good boy,” he said, and a whimper fell from Jaskier’s lips.

Geralt got his hole nice and slick, opening him with oiled fingers, brushing that tender, sensitive spot inside of him. Jaskier was a litany of incoherence — babbling nonsense and groaning against the intrusion.

“Wanted this,” Jaskier said. “For so long.”

“Oh?” Geralt asked and pulled out his fingers. “Show me. Hold yourself open for me.” Jaskier spread his legs wider and reached back with both hands to pull his cheeks apart. “Look at this.” He pressed his thumb against his loosened hole. “You want it so badly that you’ll take it even though your prick is all locked up.”

“Yes,” he moaned into the bedroll beneath him. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to his ear. “Tell me what you want, buttercup.”

“Your cock, Geralt _Please_.” He arched backward. “Put it in me.”

Geralt sat back on his knees and slicked himself up. Then he grabbed his prick with one hand and pressed it against his hungry, eager hole. Jaskier was still spreading the globes of his ass apart, so he could easily see how the rim popped over the fat head, stretched wide to accommodate him. Jaskier groaned, low and sweet, and it took every ounce of self control to not drive forward into his gorgeous, tight, perfect ass.

“I would, mmph, now like to remark on the size of your colossal penis,” Jaskier choked out after Geralt pressed himself in a little further.

“Mmm? A new song to compose?” 

“It is a very large possibility. Every pun intended.” Another inch or two. “Fuck, is it never-ending? A cock the length of The Continent?” 

Geralt slowly pressed the rest of that length inside in response and removed Jaskier’s hands so that he was flushed against his backside. He rested there for a moment to allow time for adjustment before slowly beginning to grind against him. 

“Oh,” Jaskier moaned. “Oh, fuck. Yes.”

“That’s it,” Geralt rasped. “That’s it.” He began to thrust a bit faster against him. “You’re taking it so well. Like you’re made for this.”

“Fuck, fuck, I feel—” he took a big gulping breath. “I know how my body would, mmm, normally react to this, but the cage…” 

Geralt had, honestly, forgotten all about the cage the moment his dick breached Jaskier’s body. He pulled out, and Jaskier moaned at the loss. “Hush,” Geralt said. “Get up.” Jaskier did so and then Geralt laid down on the bed roll. “Come sit.”

“Oh.” Jaskier knelt down and straddled his waist.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s dick, all angry and overfilled against the cage. “Want to see this poor thing while you fuck me.” He wrapped his hand around it, squeezing the plumped bits between the bars.

“ _Geralt._ ”

“Go on. Put my cock inside you.”

Jaskier grabbed onto it and lowered himself down, his back arching once he was fully seated, and Melitele, what a sight. It was even better like this, seeing Jaskier work for it when his cock was small and captive in its metal sheath. The cage wasn’t light, either, and it bounced against Geralt’s abdomen with every movement, a constant reminder of this thing between them. 

He could tell when Jaskier had found the right angle because his moans got breathier and his hips moved faster. “That’s it,” Geralt breathed. He was close, his orgasm within reach, and he grabbed onto Jaskier’s hips to drag his cock even deeper within him.

“Shit, shit, fuck, gods, _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier cried out, absolutely wrecked, his face twisted as though pained. And then, Geralt could smell it. He looked down and saw the faintest dribble of come leaking from the head of Jaskier’s cock.

“Jas—” he gasped, unable to even finish his name because he’d made Jaskier do that, even with his prick stuffed in a cage, he’d brought him that release, and with just a few thrusts up into his hot, clenching hole, he spilled himself, pleasure sparking from his groin to every inch of his body. 

Jaskier slumped forward, falling on top of him, and their chests heaved against one another. He realized, after a moment, that Jaskier was shaking, and he cupped his face gently in his hands to look at him.

“Are you alright?”

Jaskier nodded. “Just. Overwhelmed.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Your cock has split me open.”

“Jask—”

“Don’t ‘Jaskier’ me. It’s still inside of me so I’m not breaking the rules.” His words were soft and slurred, as though he’d been fucked drunk.

“Fair enough,” Geralt’s fingers threaded through Jaskier’s hair. “How was — did you come?”

“No. No, it was incredibly strange, actually. And uncomfortable. And I would only do it again if it pleased my Lord Witcher.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’m not your lord.” 

‘You’ve seized control over a very important part of my body. What else should I call you?”

“My name.”

Jaskier burrowed against him. “You’re no fun.” 

“That is not what you’ve said for the last hour.”

“Geralt, I’m somehow simultaneously fucked out of my mind and still desperate to come. Please do not assault me with logic or sound arguments.”

Oh. Geralt hadn’t realized that he was still in need. He could keep him in that state just because, or he could do what he actually wanted, which was to unlock the cage and bring him pleasure.

Jaskier arched against him, his back to Geralt’s chest, as Geralt’s slick hand stroked him to completion. Soft, sweet sounds fell from his lips and Geralt pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck and shoulder, praising him for how good he was and how well he did.

“Come for me, little bard,” he finally whispered in his ear, and Jaskier’s body pressed against him as he heeded his words and spilled hotly over his fist. 

He could tell that Jaskier was already almost asleep, so he fetched a wet cloth to clean them both. He returned afterward with his bed roll, which he tucked right next to Jaskier, and slid in behind. 

“Geralt,” he said, half asleep.

“Yes?”

His eyes were closed but he reached backwards for Geralt’s hand. “Will you hold me again? Like the first time?” And Geralt knew exactly what he wanted. So he pulled him tightly to his chest and then trailed his hand downward to cup around his cock.

They were like that for several moments until Jaskier covered Geralt’s hand with his own and squeezed it gently. “Yours,” he whispered. 

“Yes,” Geralt responded, flooded with affection and joy. He pressed a kiss to the back of his head and then said the words that had been true for so long, but he’d been too afraid to think of, let alone speak aloud. “And I am yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for joining me on this journey. Comments and kudos are so very much appreciated! :)
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sablier_bloque)!
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, a [lil' retweet](https://twitter.com/sablier_bloque/status/1221158350936776707?s=20) would be so appreciated!


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